Deepforge Saga

Chapter 3: Foundations of War

Preparing for the Aftermath

The cavern was eerily silent in the wake of battle. The heavy air, thick with the metallic tang of blood, hung low, mixing with the acrid scent of burning wood and the faint sulfur rising from hidden underground vents. A chilling draft swept through the cavern, brushing against Murtagh's skin like cold fingers, carrying with it the ghostly echoes of dying screams. The damp stone walls, slick with condensation, reflected the flickering light of nearby torches, their wavering glow illuminating pools of blood that slowly seeped into the fractured rock. Even the soft, rhythmic drip of water from the cavern ceiling seemed louder in the stillness, each drop landing with a hollow splash that reverberated through the vast, empty space.

Murtagh stood at the heart of the battlefield, the weight of what had just transpired pressing down on him like a physical force. He took a slow, deliberate breath, his chest rising and falling as he tried to center himself. The fight had ended, but the true battle had only begun. This was no longer a game to him—this was survival. Every decision, every command would shape the fate of Morningstar Hold, and there was no room for error.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, his fingers brushing against a streak of dried blood that crusted along his temple. The weight of leadership was heavier now, the consequences more tangible. The stench of iron and sweat clung to the air, thick and suffocating. Around him, the remnants of the fight were stark—faint traces of pixelated gnoll bodies fading into nothingness, leaving behind scattered loot: rusted weapons, torn leather scraps, and meager pouches of gold. Hardly a reward worthy of the blood spilled.

His men lingered nearby, some still gripping their weapons with white-knuckled fists, their eyes darting toward the shadows as though expecting another attack. A few nursed wounds—scratches, bruises, deep gashes that shimmered with pixelated blood. The system allowed a level of pain simulation, but dulled enough to keep it immersive rather than unbearable. Still, the sight of blood, even virtual, carried weight.

Bioluminescent moss clung to the cavern walls, its glow casting strange, eerie patterns across the blood-streaked ground. The contrast of life and death was striking—the vibrant glow of the moss mingling with the dark pools of blood that slowly seeped into the cracks of the stone floor.

Murtagh clenched his fists at his sides. This was just the beginning.

A notification flickered in his vision.

[Territory Defense Report]

Enemy Attack: Feral Gnoll RaidersCasualties: 4 (Respawn in 6 hours)Wounded: 10 (Healing requires medical supplies or rest)Battle Efficiency Rating: B+Bonus Reward: Increased NPC Settlement Growth Speed

A tactical advantage. The higher his battle efficiency, the faster his settlement would grow. But growth was a double-edged sword. More people meant more mouths to feed, more defenses to maintain, and an even greater target painted across his domain.

He turned to his men. "Good work. But this was only a scouting force. There will be more. Rest, eat, and be ready."

The soldiers nodded, their exhaustion evident, but a fire still burned behind their eyes—loyalty, tempered by the heat of battle. Murtagh could sense it growing, but he needed more than obedience. He needed warriors—men and women who would fight not because they were ordered to, but because they believed in something greater.

As the soldiers dispersed, Murtagh moved through the camp, his ears catching snatches of conversation.

"I thought we were done for when that second wave hit," one soldier muttered, wiping blood from his armor.

"Would've been if the Lord hadn't called that flanking maneuver," another replied. "He sees everything before it happens."

A faint smile tugged at Murtagh's lips before he quickly masked it. Praise was fine—but it bred complacency. And complacency was death.

Organizing the Workforce

With the immediate threat neutralized, Murtagh turned his focus to the lifeblood of Morningstar Hold: its people and its resources. Swords and shields would only carry him so far. A kingdom wasn't built on victories alone—it was built on stone, timber, and the will of its people.

He opened the settlement management panel, a shimmering holographic interface blooming before him in soft golden light. Lines of data cascaded across transparent screens, color-coded for clarity: green for agriculture, gray for mining, blue for construction, red for military. The interface hovered mid-air, and with a few practiced motions of his fingers, menus expanded and contracted in smooth, fluid arcs.

A rotating 3D model of Morningstar Hold floated at the center—crude wooden walls, a handful of scattered buildings, the Lord's Hall rising at its core. Blinking markers dotted the landscape, highlighting resource nodes, weak points in the defenses, and clusters of civilians. Productivity bars fluctuated in real time as he adjusted worker allocations, each change sending ripples through the settlement's ecosystem.

Workforce Allocation:

Miners (10): Extracting stone and iron from nearby cavern walls.

Lumberers (8): Harvesting fungal wood from glowing mycelium forests deeper in the caves.

Farmers (5): Cultivating bioluminescent crops within the dome's boundaries.

Laborers (15): Focused on fortifications and construction.

Scouts (2): Surveying surrounding tunnels for threats and resources.

He noticed the efficiency bar hovering in the yellow zone—balanced but fragile. One misstep, and it would tilt into the red, leading to overworked laborers, discontent, and a breakdown in productivity.

"Shift two laborers to help the miners," Murtagh instructed. "I want the stone reserves doubled before the next raid."

The interface shimmered, bars adjusting.

He tapped into the Civilian Dynamics menu. A cascade of minor complaints populated the screen—poor food rations, low morale, concerns about future attacks.

Small problems now, but they'll snowball if ignored.

"Queue up a mess hall," he ordered. "Better meals, and a place for the workers to gather."

The system chimed in acknowledgment.

"Also, construct temporary shelters. No one sleeps in the open anymore."

The head builder NPC, Harrek—a stocky dwarf with a braided auburn beard streaked with soot—appeared on the side of the interface, his virtual image crossing his arms.

"Aye, Lord," Harrek rumbled. "But we'll need more timber soon."

"I'll send more lumberers once the walls are reinforced," Murtagh replied.

Harrek nodded, his heavy brows furrowing in thought. "We'll get it done."

The screen cleared, the construction queue updating with the new projects.

Murtagh leaned back slightly. The skeleton of a city was forming—but it was still brittle, still vulnerable.

Stone walls. Aquaponic farms. Stronger defenses. We need it all.

He commissioned the digging of small aquaponic pools fed by subterranean streams—bioluminescent fish would serve as a stable protein source, and overhead, glowing mushrooms would be cultivated to boost crop yields. Every resource had to feed into the next.

Training the Army

But stone and food wouldn't save them if another horde stormed the gates.

Murtagh pulled up the Military Overview. Lists of units populated the screen, each name accompanied by small data points: health, morale, skill levels.

Available Units:

F-Tier Recruits: Basic infantry with minimal training.

E-Tier Guardsmen: Shield and spear specialists.

E-Tier Archers: Long-range support.

Not enough.

He queued the training of twenty more E-Tier Guardsmen and ten Archers, ensuring a balance between frontline defense and ranged support.

A new structure—The Training Yard—began materializing at the southern end of Morningstar Hold. Circular, marked by chalk lines for formation drills, it was surrounded by wooden dummies and sand pits for hand-to-hand combat.

"Form squads of five," Murtagh ordered the militia sergeant, Vexar—a grizzled NPC with a scar cutting across his cheek. "Focus on shield wall tactics and flanking maneuvers."

Vexar grunted. "We're spread thin, Lord. More troops would help."

"They're coming," Murtagh replied. "Get them ready."

His mind whirred with possibilities—specialized troops like pikemen for anti-cavalry, siege weapons for future offensives. But right now, he needed numbers. Discipline.

Strength.

Foresight & Political Threats

Evening fell—if such a thing could exist underground. The torches burned lower, and the ambient glow from the fungi dimmed as Murtagh sat alone in his command tent, a steaming mug of bitterroot tea untouched at his elbow. Maps littered the wooden desk before him, sketched tunnels and possible expansion routes crisscrossed with notes in his sharp handwriting.

The settlement had a heartbeat now. A pulse.

But so did its enemies.

The faint hum of the interface deepened suddenly, and a sharp chime echoed in his ears. A new system alert blinked into existence.

[Scout Report]

Rival Lord Detected: Varek Ironfang

Distance: 12 kilometers east

Status: Aggressive Expansion

Threat Level: High

Murtagh's jaw tightened.

Varek Ironfang.

He'd heard of him—infamous for early aggression in countless other games. A raider, someone who didn't wait for diplomacy or trade routes. Someone who saw fledgling settlements like Morningstar Hold as ripe targets.

He activated Foresight.

A cold rush slid down his spine as the ability kicked in. The cavern flickered before his eyes, colors draining away until all that remained were silhouettes of potential futures—fragments of smoke-choked battlefields, shattered walls, bloodied soldiers breaking ranks.

But there were paths forward.

Varek could be stopped. If he acted fast.

The strain of the ability gnawed at his temples, but he held on, watching as the images morphed—his forces holding the line, ambushes set in narrow tunnels, alliances forged with nearby factions.

He deactivated the ability, the afterimages burned into his mind.

Melissa's voice crackled in his earpiece. "That guy's a nightmare. You'll need allies."

"Already working on it," Murtagh replied.

A new notification appeared.

[Diplomatic Opportunity Detected]

Nearby NPC Faction: Stonekin Dwarves

Status: Neutral

Potential for Alliance: High

A plan began to form.

If he could ally with the Stonekin, bolster his borders, and cut Varek off at the tunnels, he might stand a chance.

Murtagh stood, brushing dust from his armor. He stepped out of the command tent, gazing out at Morningstar Hold—the flickering torches, the half-finished walls, the faint glimmer of hope that burned at its core.

A storm was coming.

But this time, he'd be ready.

(To be continued in Chapter 4: Shadows in the Depths)